


All I ever do is try

by Alitneroon



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Slow Burn, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Physical Medium Burn, Post-Season/Series 02, Rating and characters for later chapters, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitneroon/pseuds/Alitneroon
Summary: Tom really thought, watching Greg at that press conference, that he'd simply throw him to the wolves and disappear.He supposed he should have known they would end up here again, still codependent, after everything.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	All I ever do is try

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: [bangs fists on table] norm! core! norm! core!

**Tom**

Of all the Roy meltdowns he had seen, this had to be the worst. Tom cowered in the corner with his headphones on, one singular thought drowning out the chaos of Shiv yelling at Roman and Gerri yelling at Karolina over the phone and Logan eerily quiet through it all. _Fucking_ Greg.

Shiv was too preoccupied to acknowledge that anything might be wrong, as though they hadn’t stayed in separate cabins last night. Tom tried his hardest not to think about it. And Greg was sitting back in New York, having lied to Tom about the documents for the _second_ time. Being thrown to the wolves by him now, after everything, really would be the Greg-Cherry on top of the Tom-Shit-Sundae.

The latest outburst subsided and Shiv stormed past him towards the back of the plane, not even casting a glance his way. That settled it. The first place he was going when they landed wasn’t home.

***

Greg wasn’t in his office. Of course not. In the half-day between stabbing him in the back and Tom catching up he’d already moved to a shiny new office on a higher floor, with only a post-it note as notice. The new one was better than Tom’s.

He pushed open the door. “You two-faced fucking coward.”

“Hey, Tom.” Greg looked up, and the smile fell from his face as he realized Tom wasn’t kidding. “Shit, Tom, listen–”

“You lied to my fucking face, you slimy little shit-starter.” Tom crowded around the desk onto to find himself looking up as Greg stood defensively. It wasn’t fair, him being taller, it really wasn’t. “After everything we went through, I thought we had a bond. And you shoved documents down your pants like a thieving hoarder fuck! I’m the only reason you’re here, and now–”

“–Christ, Tom, quit. You’re not getting pinned. You’re getting a promotion–”

“–You wave your little shield around and just let me die–” Tom stopped in his tracks. “…Sorry?”

“Well, fine, like, half a promotion. We’re demoting Cyd,” Greg said with a lopsided, nervous grin, his hands still up like a shield. “Throne all to yourself, or something. Uh. Provided you get on board with our, uh, cover story.”

“Who’s we?”

“Team Kendall?”

“Team Kendall? Is that a thing?”

“It is now.” Greg stepped back, relaxed just slightly, with Tom too confused to keep coming for him. “Look, you know it’s not personal, right? I couldn’t give up the one bit of leverage I had. Sorry for using it, I guess.”

“Not personal. Sure. Jesus. Jumping to Kendall the first chance you get. What am I, chopped liver?”

“Your name is out of it. And there’s a spot for you if you want it.”

Tom hesitated. That, at least, was an olive branch – though he wasn’t sure he was ready to take it. “Really?”

“Yeah. I managed to weasel that out of Kendall. You know.” He poked Tom’s shoulder with a single finger. "Tom sprinkles.”

Tom ignored that. “How did you manage that?”

“Look, it’s a long story. We’ll brief you on it later. But we need to know we can trust you to go along.”

“Hm. We’ll see.” Tom peered around, gestured at the office. "So what the fuck are you now, huh? This doesn’t look like an executive assistant’s office. You’re not my boss, are you?” He shuddered at the thought.

“Uh, nah. Head of Parks & Cruises. You know. Fresh face, and all that.”

“You had all the leverage you could ever want, and you got saddled with the clean-up job?” Tom laughed – he couldn’t help himself. “Greg, you’re an _idiot._ ”

Greg shrugged. “I don’t know. I already know it. And no one’s breathing down my neck. Biggest salary, least fuss.” Greg stood there unreadable. His reasoning was sound, sure, but Tom hadn’t thought him capable of that kind of scheming. Greg cleared his throat. “Anyway. You want to see your new office? Er. Prospective new office?”

“Obviously.” Tom snapped, and stepped out of Greg’s space, finally backing down.

He followed Greg out and just down the hall. It wasn’t far away, and it was nice – half-glass walls and a view out over the Hudson.

“Well? Good, huh?”

It was the best thing to happen to him in days. He held out his arm. “Pinch me, Greg.”

Greg laughed, and turned to leave. “I’ll let you get settled, then,” He said, still nervous.

“Hold on.” Tom grabbed his elbow and stopped him, on impulse, froze when he realized how he must look, with his face all crestfallen and serious. It was embarrassing. But it wasn’t like Greg hadn’t seen worse. “Thanks, Greg,” He choked out, as everything came crashing in again. “I really thought… well. I’m glad you don’t hate me, I guess.”

“Yeah, of course not.” Greg couldn’t meet his eyes. “Are you, um, ok?”

Tom tried to crack a joke, he really did, but just shrugged instead. He felt his face screw up and tried to wipe the expression off. “Yeah, fine.”

“You wanna go out and drink tonight?” Greg asked in a rush. “I can fill you in on the plan. And, uh, it’s been a while, and with everything lately – you know, it might be nice.”

“Yeah,” Tom answered breathlessly, helplessly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

***

Shiv wasn’t home when he dropped off his things and changed. That made nearly 24 hours now without a real conversation. Maybe he could drown this pit in his stomach if he just drank enough.

The club they’d picked was upscale, but Greg had insisted they stay down at the bar instead of getting their own space. He let Greg order for them both. He was still mad, of course he was, but there was just no fight left in him.

“So there’s no paper trail, right?” Greg was saying. “So we keep to the lie that you didn’t know. But they know I signed the papers out, they know I had them, and they can probably figure out that you sent me.”

“And how does this translate to me not being screwed? Still waiting on that.”

“Just, listen, ok? We figured this all out on the way over. We think it’ll work.”

Tom shrugged. He’d been sick of Greg and Kendall already, but this was so much worse. If Greg said ‘we’ one more time, Tom might actually strangle him. “Fine. Go on.”

“So you tell them you didn’t know what you were sending me to shred. That’s already our story, right? Normal housekeeping. I saw something suspicious, I kept it, but didn’t know what to do with it. You only sent me on Thanksgiving as, uh… some kind of hazing.”

“Hazing.”

“Right. It works because, you know, you might actually do that to me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tom said on reflex. Greg was right, but that didn’t mean he had to say it. Tom took a drink, mulling it over. It wasn’t a bad plan, actually. “And you’re sure they can’t trace it back to me.”

“Well, we can’t promise anything. But, uh, if you go along with that story, and work with us, you’re safe. And, uh, if not.” Greg looked away. “We’ll turn you in,” He mumbled.

“You’re kidding me.” Tom grabbed Greg by the wrist, pulling to get his attention. “You’re blackmailing me _again?_ ”

“Ha. Little bit. Look, it’s Kendall’s plan, really. I barely helped.”

Tom smiled, finally. “Sure. But I’m that important that you’d… blackmail me to get me to work _with_ you, this time?”

“Oh, come on. You’ll be useful. ATN’s a big deal.”

“It sure is.” 

“So. Shiny new office, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Then why are you acting all depressed?”

Tom sighed. “I mean, you know. Shiv’s not happy with, uh,” A half-truth was more tolerable. He gestured at Greg. “Your whole… coup thing.”

“Oh. Sorry, I guess.” He shrugged, shied away. “But you two are good, right?”

Why’d he have to ask it flat-out? Tom was professionally avoidant, but a terrible liar. “Not really,” He mumbled, surprising himself. Gone were the days when Greg was a safe confessor, but the habit was hard to break. He should be untrustworthy. But for all he’d gone behind Tom’s back, he hadn’t used anything against him.

“Fuck. Sorry, man.”

“Yeah.” Tom blinked away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Not here, not now – he wasn’t a fucking kid, he wasn’t going to be that guy crying at the bar. “No, it’s a fucking mess, Greg, all of it. Whatever.”

“Shit.” Greg was looking at him with genuine concern, brow furrowed. He reached out and put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I mean, you can talk about it if you want, but… I’m like. The bull in the emotional china shop.” He laughed, nervous, at his own joke. “Should we just dance?”

The hand was comforting, in a way that reached down in his stomach and pulled, too much. Tom smiled, at least halfway, a twisted thing. “Yeah. Let’s get irresponsibly drunk and pull something.” He waved the bartender down. “Can we get some shots, please?”

They downed two shots each – one delicious, and one that tasted a bit like sweat. Tom grimaced and laughed. “Oh, that’s terrible. That was not the right order.”

Greg shook his head violently, lips pursed. “No. Ok. One more of that first one, please?”

Tom took his and stood, holding it out for a toast. “To two shiny new offices.”

“To the offices.” Greg tapped his little cup gently but still managed to spill. “And sticky fingers.”

Greg was not a good dancer. Tom envied his seeming ability not to care as he dragged them out onto the floor. It was so much easier to follow than to lead. He’d have cared more if it weren’t for the heat he could feel pouring through his veins, the quieting of the usual commentary on his every move. For once he didn’t care to be in charge. For once he let the sound wash him out, downed the rest of his drink and abandoned it to bump against strangers, laugh and sweat and forget, as Greg swung his bony elbows into the crowd, clearing a space for them both.

Hours seemed to pass in a bubbly haze, but eventually the crowd thinned. Tom waited at the bar for Greg to come back from the bathroom, two last drinks sitting there, his already nearly half-empty. He fiddled with his tie and looked around. He suddenly felt out of place on his own, with no one to back him up. He hadn’t talked to anyone else all evening. He wasn’t about to hit on anyone right now. Who’d want a middle-aged likely soon-to-be divorcee? There was only one person here who would tolerate him.

Greg returned and downed a third of his beer before sitting. “Ready to get out of here?”

“I mean, I am if you are. I could go all night,” Tom joked, though he was dreading standing up again.

“Sure you could,” Greg teased. “Food, then?”

“Where are we gonna get good food at this time of night?”

“Didn’t say anything about _good_ food. Come on. Even you can’t pass up on drunk crap.” Greg grinned and shoved him with his shoulder.

“Oh, god. Whatever it is, it’d better not make me sick.”

“Burgers. There’s a place at the end of my street. Come on,” He said, getting up. “I’ll call an Uber.”

Tom followed Greg out of the club, watching him bob his head to the music still filtering out from inside. The warm summer air was still a relief after the heat. They waited side by side, leaning against a wall, half-falling asleep already. Tom had barely slept in days. He didn’t know what time it was anymore – he supposed it should be morning for him, but Greg had just come from the other side of the world too, and he didn’t seem to care. Nothing felt real outside this little square of light.

It was a short ride to the other side of Manhattan, the driver letting them out in front of a shabby little diner, warm light spilling out from inside. Greg stumbled on the curb as he folded himself out of the cab, and Tom laughed, catching his arm. “Jesus, dude. You look like a newborn deer. You’re like six and a half feet of limb.”

“Well you’re– you’re five– How tall are you?” Greg asked, poking the top of Tom’s head like it might answer.

“I’m six foot three!” Tom shouted. “Five feet. You’re kidding me.”

Soon they were tucked into a booth in the corner, a cheeseburger and a super-sized pile of fries in front of Greg, and a sensible pile of sweet potato fries for Tom. He wasn’t quite drunk enough to let himself be talked into anything worse.

“Hey, fuck off!” Tom snapped through a mouthful of fry, three of them already halfway to Greg’s mouth. He reached across and stole a handful of Greg’s in retaliation. “Executive privileges only.”

“Except we’re both executives now, so,” Greg took another fry. “Mutual shit-stealing should probably be allowed under the new arrangement.”

“Fine. Seniority, then.”

Greg paused, then took a single fry from Tom’s plate and replaced it with two of his own. He raised an eyebrow. “Acceptable?”

“Barely.”

Why had he even been angry? It was hard to remember now, as Greg made him laugh into his horrible, greasy, delicious food. They were acting like everyday people, and he felt alive. Tom shuddered, disgusted with himself. Next time, he’d take Greg somewhere proper.

The home stretch to Greg’s apartment was more of a sloshed stumble, a meander punctuated by an argument about the shoes in a shop window _– they are too stylish, Greg, just look at that detailing!_ Tom, caught up in the laughter, tripped over the steps to the front lobby and nearly faceplanted into the glass doors. Greg caught him by the elbow. “Careful, there. You coming up?”

“Is up the way to a couch?” Tom answered, while Greg buzzed them in.

“It certainly can be.” Greg shepherded them into the elevator.

The sudden quiet and the lurching floor pulled Tom back to the moment. The sick pit that had been in his stomach all night grew again. It was pathetic, really, crashing at Greg’s at his age, a married man. But it was where he’d ended up, somehow. For all that, there was no one’s couch he’d rather pass out on. He looked at Greg and smiled, or grimaced, or maybe somewhere in between. His face seemed determined to betray the turmoil. “Thanks for all this, Greg. It’s been a fun night.”

Greg looked back and smiled almost sweetly. “Yeah. Hey,” He said, and leaned over, put his arms around Tom, bony and awkward, but solid. “Uh. It’ll work out. Yeah?”

“Maybe,” Tom whispered into his shoulder. He resisted the terrible urge to crumble completely. Wished he wanted to pull away. “Maybe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to swamplamp/waystar-roycos for beta reading! Find me on tumblr also at alitneroon!


End file.
